Miscommunication

We all know the importance of communication. This week, I had a difficult time expressing myself properly. It begins with a simple email from the office secretary, letting me know that she needs a picture of me for the school website. NOOOOOO!!!!! Should I submit my picture from Disney World where I am fat, sweaty and have donkey hair? ( which by the way somehow were on my facebook page. ARGH!! NOT ANYMORE!) Anyways, I send my resume, bio and a picture of Doris Day. She laughs and says, nevermind we are ALL taking professional photos so there is some uniformity. NOOOOOOO!!! I never take good pictures. ( Most of you remember the Ricky Schroeder mugshot that I walked around with for four years.) So, jokingly I email her back and ask what happens if I get sick right before the picture and miss it. Most people would know that I was joking. Apparently, she did not. She emailed me back and said that she asked my boss if I had to get my picture taken. She explained to him that I was uncomfortable with getting my picture taken. He said I had to. OH MY EFFIN GOD!!! I can't believe she went to him. He now will think I am a big ole freakshow. She didn't know I was kidding. I was relaying this story to J. I decided that I would just avoid my boss for awhile. He seems Aspbergery and will definitely make a point of saying something to me about it. He'll need to EXPLAIN to me why. J. then suggests I just tell him what happened. Hmmm. The truth. A concept.

So, in the urgency of having this picture being taken I make a hair appointment. I have been growing it out for nine months. I hate it but I know I just need to wait a little longer and all will be fine. It's been six weeks. I need it cleaned up. I go to a new stylist in the same salon and we have a consultation. I explain that what I want. I tell him that I have been growing my hair out for nine long months. He shakes his head as though he understands and begins to cut. CUT CUT CUT CUT CUT. At the end, my hair is as short as it was in January. Nine months of ugly hair for not. Oh well.

As I leave, feeling a little blue and self conscious, a scary black man with no teeth lets me know how he feels about my new look. Affirmation is just what I needed. Later that weekend, while getting a pedicure, the very lesbian technician lets me know how she feels about my new look. (By the way, it is very hard to enjoy a pedicure when the person doing it is gazing at you and rubbing your feet).

The good part is that my picture will be on the website for all to see. I can't wait.